


What's on Your Mind

by Salambo06



Series: Open up my eyes [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, FIx It, M/M, Morning After, Rimming, Smut, but not so much, post series 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 10:58:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4743794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salambo06/pseuds/Salambo06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John knew falling into bed with Sherlock was not going to be easy. But still, he didn't expected Sherlock to storm out of the flat the very next morning.</p>
<p>~ ~ </p>
<p>Reading the first part of the series,<a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4626240"> A Bit Too Familiar</a>, may be useful to fully understand this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's on Your Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Katy](http://billytheskull.tumblr.com/) for his job as a beta !
> 
> The title comes from the song 'Believe' by the amazing Mumford & Sons.
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://letthechoirsing.tumblr.com/)

John blinks awake, the pillow under him too soft and his body swamp with sweat. Throwing the cover away, John yawns lazily as he stretches on the sheets. He has to close his eyes again quickly, the bright sunlight blinding him, and sighs. Of course they didn’t think to close the curtain last night. He turns away from the window and is greeted by a thick, dark mop of curls threatening to suffocate him. Sherlock is snoring lightly, one arm wrapped around John’s waist, and last night’s events come back to John instantly.

Sherlock’s naked body is just inches away from John’s, and in a quiet movement John closes the gap. No wonder why he feels as if his skin is on fire, Sherlock’s body is burning next to him. John pushes the cover off of him too, revealing more of the body John dreamed about for years. Thankfully, Sherlock doesn’t stir, and a small gasp of contentment escapes his mouth when John’s lips brush his forehead, not quite resisting the visceral need to touch him. John looks at him for a long minute, fighting back the urge to follow the faint lines on Sherlock’s face with his fingers. He didn’t get much time to see Sherlock’s body last night, and John cannot wait to kiss every inch of the pale skin before him. John considers waking up Sherlock for some further discoveries, but sleep was never something Sherlock could spare. Instead John burrows more comfortably into the bed, facing Sherlock this time, their noses almost brushing. Sherlock’s deep, slow breathing tickles his face, John’s smile only growing wider as he closes his again.

Sleep finds John in a matter of seconds.

The next time John wakes up, it is to a gentle mouth leaving tender kisses on his neck. He doesn’t open his eyes right away, enjoying the sweet caress but Sherlock pulls back just before reaching John’s mouth.

“You’re awake.”

Sherlock’s voice is still full with sleep and now he has to look at him. And seeing Sherlock’s face like this, soft and unguarded, threaten to overwhelm John, the weight of the years waiting for a moment like this crashing over him. 

“Morning,” he murmurs not really trying to hide his smile, enjoying the ruffled dark hair and sleepy eyes before him.

Sherlock doesn’t respond, too preoccupied with kissing every inch of John’s skin that he can reach. He lingers a little on John’s jaw, his tongue tracing the hard line of John’s chin before biting down at John’s neck. John shifts a bit closer, one of his legs sliding between Sherlock’s, and John sighs in pleasure when he feels Sherlock’s hips finally starting to move slightly. John’s runs his hands up Sherlock’s tights before settling on Sherlock’s arse, pressing him harder into his thigh.

“Sherlock,” he whispers. Sherlock is still avoiding his mouth on purpose.

He senses rather than sees Sherlock’s smirk, and John understands that last night didn’t change much in fact. Sherlock does what he wants, he always has, and John has no control over him. Especially not when Sherlock’s naked thigh is achingly close to John’s own growing erection. Sherlock’s cock is hard against his leg as he thrusts leisurely against John.

“Sherlock, please.”

John knows Sherlock is playing with him, teasing him. Neither of them will be able to get off like this. Last night had been fast, too fast, the whole evening almost unreal in John’s fuzzy memory. And yet John can still feel Sherlock’s tightness around his cock, the way he had moved above John and the hypnotizing sounds that had filled the room. John only needs to close his eyes for his heartbeat to quicken at the memories.

“What do you want, John?” Sherlock purrs, his lips moving on John’s cheek now. He shifts to straddle John’s hips, his ass poised a hairsbreadth away from John’s cock.

“Kiss me,” John demands, his hands moving to Sherlock’s back to pull him closer.

In one controlled movement, Sherlock flips them over. Startle, John settles between his thighs and moans as their cocks rub against each other. He thrusts shakily, desperate for more friction. Sherlock whimpers, the sound driving John mad with lust. He reaches up with one hand, tangling it in Sherlock’s hair, and slides the other one between their bodies to take both of their cocks in hand.

Sherlock’s own moans are getting caught in John’s mouth, neither of them wanting to break their kisses, the need for air long forgotten. John strokes them faster. His orgasm is already close, morning sex always making him ache for release. Sherlock’s hands are traveling all over him, never stopping except to squeeze John’s arse. Sherlock throws his head back, letting John catch his breath, before chasing Sherlock’s mouth for another burning kiss.

John feels Sherlock getting closer, and he tugs at his lover’s hair more firmly. Sherlock’s head snaps back on the pillow again, offering his pale neck to John’s mouth. John keeps his fingers in Sherlock’s curls, pulling when Sherlock locks his legs around John’s waist, his heels digging into John’s lower back. Sherlock's eyes are glazed over and his mouth hangs slack, the sight taking John’s breath away. 

“Come on, Sherlock,” John whispers, “Come for me.”

Sherlock shivers, then goes completely still before letting out a long moan. John bites down at his collarbone, his hips thrusting erratically into his hand as he comes, and his head buried in Sherlock’s neck. John shuts his eyes tightly, Sherlock’s taste against his lips, and calms down slowly. Sherlock’s fingers linger on his back, tracing patterns John can’t understand. But John doesn’t have the strength to concentrate, simply enjoying the tender caress.

When John wakes up for the third time, Sherlock is already out of bed.

He moves to Sherlock’s side of the bed, savoring the remaining warmth before getting to his feet. Last night’s clothes are still on the floor, but John puts on one of Sherlock’s dressing gowns before heading up to his bedroom to get a pair of pants.

“Oh good, you’re up,” Sherlock greets him when John comes down the stairs. He’s wearing his dressing gown, but John glimpses his naked chest. Apparently, Sherlock didn’t think clothes were necessary. Sherlock is frowning at his computer screen, oblivious to John’s thoughts, glancing up at John only to say, “Tea would be lovely.”

John shakes his head, already turning on the kettle. He sets their regular mugs on the counter and leans against it, his eyes back on Sherlock. Last night had brought a lot of changes very quickly, and John is still not sure he fully understands what happened. James and Arthur had opened his eyes on something so important, and yet so natural that John can’t believe he kissed Sherlock for the first time ten hours ago. It feels as if he’s done it for years. 

John only now finds the time to properly consider last night, the way his entire world had shifted without any warning. If he’s honest with himself, John has been in love with this madman since that first night, and lived all those years by Sherlock’s side without acting on it. John knows he could had pressed further after their dinner at Angelo’s. But Sherlock had given John his life back and John had been too afraid of screwing it up.

But now that John had felt Sherlock’s bare skin against his, his tender lips on every inch of his body, John hates himself for having given up so easily. 

John snaps out of his thoughts when he feels Sherlock’s lips against his own, the ghost of a kiss. “Tea is getting cold,” Sherlock remarks quietly.

“Sorry, I got lost for a moment,” John apologizes, smiling against Sherlock’s mouth. He makes no move to turn the kettle back on.

Sherlock smirks and steps closer, his hands resting on John’s hips. “Getting distracted?”

“Did you deduce that?” John whispers. There is a huff of laughter against his neck.

“I thought you knew by now,” Sherlock murmurs, his lips grazing John’s jaw. “When it comes to you, I’m not sure I can trust my own judgment.”

John tilts his head up and Sherlock obliges, leaning down to kiss him so tenderly that John thinks his heart might break.

“You only need to ask then.” John smiles, his hands wandering from Sherlock’s hips to his chest. He lingers on Sherlock’s nipples, feeling them harden beneath his fingers. “God, Sherlock, we had sex just an hour ago.”

“Complaining?” Sherlock smirks, his hands now on John’s arse, pressing their hips together. 

“God, no.” John pants out, reaching up to push Sherlock’s dressing gown off of his shoulders. “Not at all.”

Sherlock grins and drops to his knees, licking his lips. John swears under his breath

Sherlock pulls John’s pants out of the way in one swift movement, John’s half hard cock just inches away from his mouth. John can feel Sherlock’s hot, humid breath against his bare thighs and he braces himself against the counter, not trusting his legs to hold out. Sherlock sucks bruises into his hipbones and his thighs, never touching John’s cock. John groans in frustration, his head falling back against the cabinets, and he feels Sherlock’s muffled laughter against his skin, the bastard.

John can’t help the whimper that escapes him when Sherlock’s wet lips finally find the head of his cock, a single lick of his tongue along the slit. John buries one of his hand in Sherlock’s curls, urging him to go further and Sherlock complies with a groan, the vibration against his cock making John feel dizzy. 

And John gets lost in the pure lust that is Sherlock Holmes’ sinful mouth.

It’s only after another surprise blow job from Sherlock, four hours later, that John realises something’s wrong. They had spent the day at home, Sherlock solving two cases without getting out and John finishing a blog entry. They didn’t speak much about last night, or even the four times they had shagged that day, and John thinks for a moment their new relationship isn’t going to change them after all. 

Sherlock’s question from the night before is haunting John, the broken way he had asked John if he has noticed anything. The unsaid longing behind his words, the raw emotion in Sherlock’s eyes when they had finally met John’s and the frenzy of their first time. Everything was too much, went too fast, and John knows now they can’t go on forever without talking about it. 

But most of all, John now realises that Sherlock had distracted him all day with sex and burning glances. And not once had John managed to look at him properly, Sherlock avoiding eye contact deftly. The possibilities behind Sherlock’s behavior are making John sick with worry, the worst being that he has no idea how to talk to the man he loves. 

“John, I can hear you thinking from here.” Sherlock complains from the sofa, his eyes not leaving the newspaper he’s reading. 

“Sorry,” John begins to apologizes, frowning at the habit he’d taken since moving in with Sherlock. Sherlock only shrugs, and John keeps his mouth shut for another minute, maybe two, before standing up from his chair. 

Sherlock doesn’t look up when John taps his legs, only moves them out of the way and settles them back in place on John’s lap after he sits down. John plays idly with the fabric of Sherlock’s dressing gown, opens his mouth once, then closes it. He brushes his fingers through the sparse hair on Sherlock’s legs, smiling when Sherlock shivers, and he tries to speak again, this time a puff of breath escaping his lips before he decides against it.

Sherlock sighs and throws the newspaper to the floor. “Clearly you have something to say.”

“I think we need to talk,” John blurts out, keeping his eyes fixed on Sherlock. He needs him to understand this is important, and Sherlock is not going to escape this conversation.

“I thought we were alright,” Sherlock responds, his voice uncertain.

“Of course we’re alright, Sherlock.” John smiles. He rubs soothing circles into Sherlock’s thigh with his thumb, wanting the chase Sherlock’s concern away.

“Don’t people have a ‘talk’ when something’s wrong?”

“Who told you that?” John asks, his smile growing wider when Sherlock looks away.

Sherlock only shrugs. John laughs lightly and Sherlock glares at him, clearly not pleased with the way the conversation is going. “What’s the matter then?”

John shakes his head, letting the moment pass, before looking down at Sherlock’s legs again. He can’t back out now. He won’t begin a relationship with Sherlock by keeping things to himself. Sherlock moves his feet, just nudging at John’s belly. John only has to look up to still see the concern on Sherlock’s face.

“I know what you’ve been doing,” John begins slowly.

“What I’ve been doing?” Sherlock repeats, raising his eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that look,” John continues, “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Do I?”

“Sherlock, in the four times we had sex in the past twenty-four hours, not once have I seen you properly,” John says, his eyes fixed on Sherlock. He won’t let Sherlock distract him.

“What are you talking about?” Sherlock asks, feigning confusion. “If I recall correctly, I was in a state of complete nudity last night.”

“Yes, you were. But you were riding me,” John explains, feeling himself blush at the words. Just thinking about Sherlock moving above him makes him want to drop this conversation and pull Sherlock into his lap.

“I don’t see the problem, John!” Sherlock says, clearly getting more annoyed with this conversation by the second.

“Sherlock, you won’t let me touch you.”

Sherlock stands abruptly and goes to the kitchen. John sighs. He stays on the sofa, looking at where Sherlock had sat with his back to him at the kitchen table, now intent on his microscope. John takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the now inevitable fight, and gets to his feet.

“Sherlock, you’re not just going to ignore this,” he warns, sitting down in front of Sherlock. John waits for a minute before grabbing the microscope and pulling it away from Sherlock’s face. Sherlock’s head snaps up and he glares at John.

“John, I’m not talking about your ridiculous thoughts.”

“They’re not thoughts, Sherlock.” John replies. 

“Well…”

“They’re not!” John asserts, “They’re facts!”

Sherlock stands up again, and this time John follows right away, reaching for Sherlock’s arm.

“I thoughts you liked facts,” John says, trying to smile. “Sherlock, don’t walk away from this.”

“There is nothing to walk away from, John.” Sherlock sighs, looking at him.

“I just want to understand why you won’t let me touch you.” 

“I remember you touching me quite a lot.” Sherlock smirks, getting closer to John. 

“No, you’re not going to distract me with sex again.” John warns, stepping back. Sherlock stops in his track, but recovers almost instantly and goes for a different tactic.

“Oh, so sex with me is a distraction,” Sherlock states, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Don’t twist my words,” John replies, barely keeping out the anger from his voice. “Every time we’ve had sex, you made sure to go down on me, or take complete control. And I’m not complaining, just to be clear. But not once I have been able to look at you, discover your body.”

“John —”

“No, listen. I want to know what you like, how to touch you, make you feel good. I’ve wanted this for so long, Sherlock. I just need you to let me show you how much,” John says, forcing himself not to look away from Sherlock’s eyes.

Neither of them say anything for a long moment, Sherlock still gazing at John with frowning eyes. John tries to calm his breathing, his hand shaking by his side. He needs to trust Sherlock, let him take a step towards them. John needs to know Sherlock wants this new relationship to work as much as him.

“Sherlock, we can’t begin this,” he gestures between them, taking a tentative step forward, “by not talking about things that matter.”

“We don’t talk about a lot of things already John,” Sherlock says. John can’t remember ever hearing him sound so tired. “And I don’t remember forcing you to do so.” 

“Sherlock, please.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, and I expect you to respect that.” Sherlock states, already reaching out for his coat. 

“Sherlock, you can’t just leave,” John protests. He reaches out to grab his arm, but Sherlock gracefully sidesteps to avoid him, his hand already on the doorknob.

“Lestrade texted, I need to go,” Sherlock replies without looking at him, and he is halfway down the stairs before John thinks to follow.

“Sherlock,” John calls one last time, but the echo of a slamming door is his only answer.

~ ~

John decides to wait up for Sherlock, settling into his chair. He tries to concentrate on at crime novel that Sherlock hasn’t yet managed to spoil, but his eyes keep straying, first to his phone, then to the door. He texts Sherlock four times, and calls Lestrade when he doesn’t receive any answer, only to learn that Sherlock had left the Yard over an hour ago.

John tries hard not to overthink what Sherlock had said, or more importantly, the things he didn’t say. Maybe John should have waited a little longer. For all he knows, Sherlock has never had a romantic relationship before, he may be in unknown territory here. And John had not even waited an entire day before provoking their first fight. He realizes he’s been reading the same paragraphs for ten minutes and admits defeat, putting his book down with a sigh. He snatches his phone up again and calls Sherlock, but gets his voicemail. Fine. If Sherlock wants to avoid him, then John is going to make sure he won’t be able to do so. 

John goes upstairs to get ready for bed and then comes back down, hesitating only for a moment before walking to Sherlock’s bedroom. The bed is still unmade, some of John’s clothes on the floor. He gather them all, before lying on the right side. Sleep may not come easily, but at least Sherlock will have to face him as soon as he comes back. John is not going to walk away without a fight. 

In the end John falls asleep within the hour, Sherlock’s smell surrounding him. He wakes to the sound of the bedroom door opening. Sherlock’s form waits in the doorway for a few seconds, before John lift the cover on Sherlock’s side of the bed. Sherlock doesn’t say anything and John respects his silence with difficulty. He wants to know where Sherlock spent the evening, what he thought about during all those hours and most importantly what he’s thinking now. But he stays quiet as Sherlock undresses quickly, joining him in bed without a single word, and John’s heart sinks when Sherlock does not immediately cuddle up to him as he had done the night before. They both stay silent for long, torturous minutes. John stays on his side of the bed, Sherlock’s warmth heating the bed. He considers shifting closer, taking Sherlock in his arms and asking him to forget all the things he had said earlier. They can take things as slowly as Sherlock needs to, as long as he stays right here. 

“Sherlock, I —” 

“I understand that you don’t want to talk about Mary,” Sherlock interrupts. The words hit John like a block of ice. Sherlock speaks to the ceiling, avoiding John’s eyes, but John turns on his side to face him. “She lied and she betrayed you. She kept secrets. I understand that.”

John doesn’t respond, letting Sherlock work through whatever he’s trying to say. 

“I respect your choice, and I want as much as you to forget about the past. But John, I’m not good at relationships. I don’t know what I can or can’t talk about.”

“Those are things you learn,” John whispers, his hand resting in the no man’s land between them. 

“I want to talk about Mary,” Sherlock declares after another minute of silence, startling John. 

“Alright.”

John always knew they had to talk about her at some point. Sherlock had killed Magnussen and nearly been sent to his death, and John had watched from afar, too afraid to act. Although Moriarty’s return was revealed to be fake, Mary’s involvement with it had almost driven John insane. Sherlock had always been near, always showing up the moment John had needed him and John knows now what it must have feel like for him. Sherlock’s attitude last night had shown John how long he had waited for them to become more. If talking about Mary is what Sherlock needs, then so be it. John is ready.

“I don’t want to talk about it now.” Sherlock turns to face John, the lines of his face deeper and more haggard in the dim half-light. John’s eyes are used to the darkness now, and Sherlock blinks at him a few times before sighing, “I’m not sure what I want.”

“Well, I know what I want.,” John whispers, his hand moving closer to Sherlock’s arm. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you. And I really hope you want me too.”

Sherlock frowned. “John, really?” 

John laughs, Sherlock rolling his eyes at him. “You can’t doubt that.”

“Alright, I won’t,” John smiles. It seemed natural now to put his hand on Sherlock’s, to move across the no man’s land closer to Sherlock’s side. Sherlock does not move away.

“She lied to you, John,” Sherlock says quietly. Apparently he does want to talk about Mary. John intertwines their fingers and waits for him to continue. “She lied, and you hated her for it.”

“I hated her for a lot of reasons, Sherlock,” John replies.

Sherlock closes his eyes and exhales. He is silent for a long moment and then, so quietly that John might not have heard it had he not been waiting for it, he whispers, “I lied, John.”

“About what?”

Sherlock exhales again, and suddenly the gap between their bodies is unbearable, their hands too small a point of contact. John closes the small gap between them. He can feel Sherlock’s breath against his face. He rests his forehead against Sherlock’s. “Sherlock,” he says lowly. “Please.”

Sherlock jerks backward, John rolling away from him in surprise. Sherlock stands up, facing John with a blank, determined expression.  
“Sherlock, what —” John begins, but Sherlock signs for him to stay silent. Sherlock pulls his shirt off quickly and throws it to the ground. He turns his back to the bed.

John is on his feet immediately, a gasp escaping him. “Sherlock.”

But Sherlock stays silent, looking down at the floor. His back is a mess of scars. Hardly an inch of skin has been spared. Some are thin and white, and some are raised and red and angry. A part of John’s mind won’t shut up, won’t stop thinking _that was a whip, that is a stab wound, the largest one was a machete_ A shiver runs through Sherlock’s body when John traces the largest scar with his fingers, from his left shoulder down to his right hip. John wants to look away from this, wants to step away but he can’t. John wants to wash them off of Sherlock’s back, but he can’t. John wants to puke.

“I can’t feel them anymore,” Sherlock murmurs, “I don’t feel any pain.”

“There’s so many,” John whispers, feeling something tear in his chest.

Another shiver wracks Sherlock’s frame when John kisses two smaller scars at the base of his neck. 

“Sherlock, you should have told me,” John says quietly. 

Sherlock’s answer is only a beat too late. “I wanted to, but then Mary shot me and everything went too fast.”

“I would have taken the time for you,” John argues. His fingers are tracing smaller scars, some of them getting lost in the spiderweb of Sherlock’s back.

“Would you have react so calmly back then?” Sherlock asks and John knows he’s right. He’s only reacting this way because Sherlock needs him to. He can’t scream at him now, when Sherlock is naked and vulnerable and shaking. Sherlock is confessing his lie, knowing that John hates being lied to. _He really knows me too well._

“Probably not,” John agrees, “but you have to know that even then, I would have forgiven you. I can’t stay away from you, Sherlock. Not back then, and not now.”

“I never know what to expect from you,” Sherlock confesses, his voice barely a whisper.

John steps closer, encircling Sherlock’s waist with both arms. He rests his head on Sherlock’s back and breathes deeply. “I hate that you felt like you needed to hide this from me, and I hate that you were too scared to let me touch you. But if we’re going to really be together now, you need to tell me these things, Sherlock.”

“I am… accustomed to hiding things, John. But for you, I can promise to try.” Sherlock says, his hands coming to rest on John’s.

“That’s good enough for me,” John smiles, his head rising slowly as Sherlock breathes. 

“I like my scars, John,” Sherlock finally murmurs, his thumb rubbing circles into the back of John’s hand. “They’re proof that I kept you alive.”

John spins him around, Sherlock losing his balance before steadying in John’s arms. John kisses him hard, and Sherlock’s arms wrap around his neck. He feels more than hears Sherlock moaning into the kiss. Sherlock bites at his bottom lip, urging John to open his mouth and John breaks the kiss, one of his hand on Sherlock’s neck now.

“This isn’t a last kiss, Sherlock,” he whispers, Sherlock panting inches from his face. “No need to rush it.”

Sherlock closes his eyes again, chasing John lips more gently now. John smiles into the kiss, pressing their bodies together. Sherlock’s hands migrates to his arse, John wearing only his pants. He thrusts up slowly, and John doesn’t need more to get the message. If Sherlock needs reassurance, then John is going to make sure he understands that he’s not planning to leave. 

“Come on,” John says against Sherlock’s lips, steering him towards the bed.

Sherlock cooperates, more intent on kissing John as deeply as possible. John lays down on the bed, pulling Sherlock with him by the hand. Sherlock is still wearing his pajamas pants and John slips his hands underneath, palming Sherlock’s bare arse. He presses their hips together, Sherlock’s cock hard against his. Sherlock’s head falls forward and he thrusts weakly, desperate for more contact.

“God,” John gasps, letting his head fall backward when Sherlock begins to thrust his hips more firmly. John regretfully lets go off Sherlock’s arse in order to crawl farther up the bed. 

Sherlock frowns but waits until John is comfortable and holding out his hand in a blatant invitation. But Sherlock sits back on his heels, breathing hard above John before leaving the bed briefly to get rid of his pants. John pulls his off too, throwing somewhere on the floor.

“Come back,” he almost begs, holding up his arms towards Sherlock.

Sherlock nearly throws himself at John, landing awkwardly above him. John giggles quietly and kisses him. His hands find Sherlock’s back without any hesitation and he thrusts up against Sherlock gently. He curses as Sherlock’s cock slides against his, their mixed pre-come making the slide gentle.

Sherlock is kissing his jaw, making his way to John’s mouth in a torturous slow trail. John locks his legs around Sherlock’s waist, his hands still stroking his scarred back, and thrusts up to meet Sherlock’s own movement. Sherlock’s back becomes too sweaty to hold onto and so John releases him, holds down to the sheets instead, trying to fight his too fast approaching orgasm. He wants this moment to last.

“Sherlock, hold on,” he pants, and Sherlock stops above him.

“What is it?” Sherlock asks, resting on his forearms on each side of John’s head.

“I —,” John begins but Sherlock’s lips are right there, too close, and he has to kiss him.

Sherlock moans into the kiss, but he stays still against John. “John?”

“Too fast,” John explains quietly, “I don’t want to come yet.”

“Too _fast?_ ” Sherlock questions, frowning, and John smiles before kissing him quickly.

“Yeah, just. Let me,” he says, gesturing vaguely to Sherlock’s body, Sherlock frowns, his brow furrowing, but he rolls off of John and onto his back. John straddles his hips, looking down at him for a moment before leaning down. “I want to kiss you everywhere.”

Sherlock inhales sharply, and John knows he might just have discovered one of Sherlock’s weaknesses in bed. He smiles as he kisses Sherlock’s right nipple, working it between his lips before biting down gently. John doesn’t miss the way Sherlock squirms on the bed, his hips seeking some friction. But John ignores it, and continues his exploration. He kisses and licks his way down Sherlock’s torso. Apparently Sherlock’s navel is a sensitive spot. John feels Sherlock’s hands in his hair, forcing him to play with it for a long moment. 

Sherlock is whispering his name like a broken prayer.

John doesn’t pay much attention to Sherlock’s cock, barely brushing at the head with his tongue before moving to Sherlock’s perineum. He teases Sherlock with his lips and tongue, his hands stroking Sherlock’s sweaty thighs. 

“Turn over,” he pants. Sherlock obeys immediately, offering his back and arse to John. “God, Sherlock.”

John takes his time on Sherlock’s back, kissing every inch of scarred skin. His hands stay on Sherlock’s arse, massaging the cheeks. He slips a finger between them but doesn’t touch directly at Sherlock’s hole, smiling at the muffled whimper that escapes Sherlock as he realizes he’s being toyed with.

“I said I wanted to kiss everywhere, Sherlock,” John chides him, laughing quietly.

This time Sherlock lets out a loud whine, pushing his arse in the air like an offering. John pushes his cheeks apart and kisses his way down the lower curve of Sherlock’s arse. He stops in front of Sherlock’s hole, breathing hard against it and Sherlock pushes his arse even higher, seeking John’s mouth.

“John, please,” he moans.

John kisses his arse lightly and smiles. “For you, anything.”

John kisses over Sherlock’s hole directly, and Sherlock hips snap back on John’s face. Sherlock’s moans are filling the room now and John wastes no time, letting his tongue breach Sherlock in slow movements. Sherlock’s hand moves to his cock, stroking himself while John dives in again and again. John’s own erection is painful, but John concentrates on Sherlock’s pleasure. He’s never rimmed anyone before, but one of his lovers did it to him back in uni. John will never forget how fast he came.

“John!”

Sherlock is close now, his hole fluttering around John’s tongue. “John, John!”

Sherlock stills completely, his hands still working on his cock through his orgasm. John continues to kiss over his hole and arse, letting Sherlock come down slowly. It’s only when he feels Sherlock’s hands on his arm that he pulls away, kissing Sherlock’s back one last time before letting Sherlock turn over. Sherlock grabs him by the hand and John falls on Sherlock’s body without much grace, Sherlock’s mouth already on his and a hand reaching for John’s cock right away. 

“Oh, fuck, Sherlock,” John moans weakly, his hips thrusting helplessly into Sherlock’s hand.

John had been too close for too long and Sherlock’s strokes are just what he needs. Sherlock never stops kissing him, his second hand urging John to thrust in his fist. John’s orgasm is silent, his moans swallowed by Sherlock’s mouth, Sherlock hands still working on him slowly. 

“God, Sherlock,” John pants against his lips a moment later. 

“John.”

John kisses him tenderly, just a brush of lips before getting up to get a fresh towel. Sherlock is lying on top of the cover when he comes back, probably not wanting to sleep in his own come, and John throws the towel at him. He gets a spare blanket from the wardrobe, and lies down again. He throws the blanket over both of them over them. Sherlock burrows his face into John’s neck and breathes deeply. John smiles and kisses his forehead. “Goodnight, love.”

Sherlock hums in response and falls asleep within minutes. John closes his eyes, listening to his lover’s slow breathing, and follows him.


End file.
